


We Are The Same/We Are Different

by CloudDreamer



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Angst, POV Second Person, Regrets, Season Ten, Spoilers, Suicide mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 22:47:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11678673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudDreamer/pseuds/CloudDreamer
Summary: The final events of the season ten of Doctor Who's finale.





	We Are The Same/We Are Different

His heartbeat is even. You know he knows what you're going to do. You also know that he won't do anything to stop you. Or maybe he can't. You've got him tight in a hug, and you both know how easy it would be to turn it into a stranglehold. That's not the way you're planning on doing it and that's not the way she did it to you all those years ago, but it's worth noting. 

You've both killed many people. Technically, you've killed more because his kills count as yours. You are him. The Master has always been both of you. Yet, here, in this forest, all of those murders and how heavy they lay on your conscious now the Doctor's made you think... it doesn't matter. He hasn't killed them as you yet, but you can't keep him from killing them either. All you can do is keep this version of you from killing more.

You didn't think you'd remember the fear on their faces as they begged for mercy. You didn't think you'd care about the smirk on your own face. How nonchalantly you'd denied them their life. You didn't think you'd ever feel the same tears dripping down your face in regret. Even though you have a time machine, you never wished you could undo the past. You've promised many things and you've broken too many promises to count. 

You tell him, and by that, you mean that you tell yourself, something honest. 

"I loved being you," you tell yourself, just before he starts being you. You've made up your mind before he even touched you. You've made up your mind as your knife is in your hand, but the real blade is in your words. All you've ever done is lie, but there's only sincerity coming out now. You don't let the tears in your eyes show. Only for the Doctor will you be weak. You wonder why you've never felt this way before. This isn't an act of hatred, or desperation. This is what you think he would describe an act of compassion, or perhaps he wouldn't. He was always a sucker for black and white morality, but you've never been that way. 

"Every second of it." The absurd glee of a life bleeding out beneath your fingers flashes through your mind. His blond hair and his smug face and how they felt on you was beautiful. "Oh, the way you burn like a sun. Like a whole screaming world on fire." You remember this now. You know what you do next, and you know the pain of regeneration that comes after you flee. You know what he does and you know that destiny's always been leading you here. On the edge of a black hole, you die. You die twice here. Today, you are not a hero.

_Without hope._

Those words you'd said to the Doctor on another die you'd thought you'd die echo through your head. If, at that moment, you'd been on the other side, you think you'd have killed him. That thought saddens you. He's been a good friend, hasn't he? You're not whispering, but it doesn't matter. There's nobody here to see you bleed out and there's nobody here to see him shoot you in the back. You're following a script you wrote yourself, but you're speaking from the heart at the same time. These words were, are, and will be a fixed point in time.

_Without witness._

"I remember that feeling, and I always will," you say and you know that the words, 'I always will,' don't mean such. "And I will always miss it." You aren't lying even though you wouldn't trade this cursed seed of kindness the Doctor has buried in you for anything. Blood is dripping from where your knife is buried in his side. The fake nighttime light flickers in your eyes. You don't take satisfaction in this. The version of you whose blood is on your blade might; you haven't been him for a while. 

_Without reward._

"Now that was very nicely done," the Master says. You know.

"Thank you," and again, you are not lying. You thought the girl version of you must be have been when you were here before. Now that you are her, you know that in and of itself is a lie. It's a great joke and the punchline is bleeding out. 

"It's good to know I haven't lost my touch." 

"You deserve my best." He does. He's earned it, and you've earned his very best. You help him towards the elevator, and blood slips through your fingers. You've caused enough bloodshed to kill a river, no, an ocean, and it's only suitable that your last kill is yourself. You briefly wonder if this constitutes suicide or homicide, before concluding it's both. He doesn't beg for mercy like you did when confronted with death, but you suppose you are living proof his death won't be permanent. 

_I am your friend._

"How long do I have?" he asks.

"Oh, I was very precise. You'll be able to make it back to your TARDIS, maybe even get a cuppa, although you might leak a bit." 

"And then regenerate into you." The disgust in his voice makes you laugh. 

"Welcome to the sisterhood," you tell him, arrogant as ever. 

"Missy, seriously, why?" The question is absurd from your perspective, just as absurd as your answer is from his. It's the punchline and the joke at the same time. This is just another loop on the timeline that needs to be fulfilled, but it doesn't feel like that. You are about to exist and you are about to end. You could stop that right now. Break the timeline by not saying what you have to say. That would be petty and something the Missy from fifty to a hundred years ago would do. You've changed.

"Oh, because he's right. Because it's time to stand with him. It's where we've always been going, and it's happening now, today. It's time to stand with the Doctor." _Without hope. Without witness. Without reward. I am your friend._. The words you said repeat like a mantra. You say them to all the Doctors you've tried to kill, again and again, until you run out of mental time. 

"No, never. Missy! I will never stand with the Doctor!" You turn around to go. His glare pierces through you. You act like you don't feel it. You do. You feel like his touch would break you into a million pieces, but, hopelessly alone, you step forward. _Only in darkness are we revealed._ Something River Song, the wife of the Doctor, once said. You wonder about how she feels sometimes. Being locked up in a library's memory must be rather lonely. Even if you've killed more by far, he's caused almost as many by virtue of not being perfect. He beats himself up over it every night. Irony.

"Yes, my dear, you will." 

And that's when the shock finally hits you. You've been waiting for this and it still hurts. Your body spasms. The irony is deafening and so is the electricity running through you. Your regenerations die just like you do. Your words die like you do. Your regrets die like you do. Your laughter does not die yet. You fall to the ground chuckling, and then it turns hysterical. Only you would shoot yourself in the back twice. Only you are insane enough to do it. 

"Don't bother trying to regenerate. You got the full blast." 

That's true. 

"You see, Missy, _this_ is where we've always been going. This is our perfect ending. We shoot ourselves in the back." You couldn't agree with him more and that's why you're laughing. It's true even as his blood pools in the elevator. It's true as your figure crumples to the ground. You'd say you're sorry it had to end like this, but that would be a lie. And you, mistress of lies, queen of evil, and spinner of depravity, have never been so honest in your life. You keep your eyes focused on the sky as the elevator slides shut. You knew he'd shoot you in the back and that you'd never get a chance to make amends for all the evil you've done. That's okay, though.

The Doctor'll probably end up regenerating out of this too. Too many cybermen. You're impressed at yourself for your brutality at the same time you're disgusted by the same thing. You wish you'd had enough time to see him change one last time. The fool's always wanted to be ginger, maybe this time he'd get his wish. Your body twitches again, but it's slowing down. You unclench your finger tips as darkness swirls in your sight. Your ice cold eyes go vacant as your thoughts slow. Death is closing in. You've given Death a hell of a job keeping up with your massacres. It really is only fitting you too die alone. 

The last tear a murderer sheds dries in your eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> This scene made me have too many feelings so I had to write it out. This is my first doctor who fic. Missy is the best master.


End file.
